The Sinful Young Master-Chapter 203: Beast and the man

Jolthar didn’t hesitate.

In a single, swift motion, he rushed to his drake’s side, unsheathing his Knashii, his long blade.

He stood before the drake, blocking the force directed towards the drake.

His mere presence seemed to lessen the beast’s suffering. The moment his hand made contact with the drake’s scales, the oppressive force shattered like brittle glass.

The drake let out a low, exhausted growl and slumped slightly, its strained breathing easing.

The man’s smug expression faltered. He glanced at the sceptre in his hand, his brows knitting together in irritation as the glow wavered. The oppressive pressure should have still been in effect, yet it had no influence over the drake now.

The beasts around them, however, recoiled. They let out low whimpers, their limbs twitching as if they were under some unseen strain.

Myron watched the entire scene unfold with a mixture of curiosity and mild confusion. He didn’t recognise the man, but one thing was clear—the sceptre he wielded had some manner of control over creatures. It made beasts subdued.

As far as he knew about licaolfs, they weren’t creatures who would bow to humans, much less to a low level human like the one who wielded the sceptre.

The robed man scowled, his fingers tightening around his staff. "Interesting. You are more troublesome than I expected."

He raised the sceptre higher, causing the green light to pulse with increasing intensity. The two Licaolf beasts whined and flinched at the surge of power, but the drake remained steady under Jolthar’s touch, protected by their inexplicable bond.

From his position near the stable entrance, Myron watched the scene unfold with growing bewilderment.

The stable hand—an older man named Garrett who had tended these stalls for decades—pressed himself against the far wall, his weathered face pale with fear. The horses in their stalls stomped and whinnied, adding to the chaos of the moment.

Then, without another word, he flicked his wrist, ordering the two licaolfs to attack the drake and Jolthar.

The two beasts surged forward.

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Then the drake stood on its limbs, her energy restored during the brief pause.

She threw back her head and roared—a sound so powerful it seemed to shake the very foundations of the city.

ROARING! RUMBLING!!

The sound reverberated through the streets, causing windows to rattle and children to wake crying in their beds. It was a roar of defiance, of protection, of power.

For a moment, those licaolfs stopped in their tracks, visibly shaken by the roar, and even the man shivered under its aura. It was so chilling and domineering that it would make even the bravest warrior falter in their steps.

Myron let out a dry chuckle, unable to believe what he had just witnessed.

Those two Licaolfs’ hesitation only lasted for a few seconds as they readied to charge at the drake again.

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Their nature was evident in their resistance to such primal fear. Their muscles bunched, preparing to spring, as their master’s dark magic drove them forward despite their obvious discomfort.

That man raised his sceptre after he regained his senses. He started grinning as he summoned more of the mysterious power and lent it to those beasts.

The mysterious green energy swirled in the air and then wrapped around the beasts, making them whine at first but then making them fiercer than before.

-

Earlier, drake’s earth-shattering roar echoed through the castle’s stone corridors also, startling everyone in the castle and guards from their posts. Everyone in the city was momentarily stunned and was looking towards the direction where the sound came from.

People gathered outside the houses; streets were filled with people as the activities were halted.

-

Meanwhile, in the stables, time seemed to crystallize into a single moment of deadly focus. Jolthar’s hand moved to the hilt of his knashii—a long blade. The weapon seemed to hum with anticipation, its dark shade drinking in what little light remained in the stable. The blade was no ordinary steel; along its length, the runes flickered with a deep silver energy that matched the power thrumming through Jolthar’s veins.

[Voidwrath initiated]

The first licaolf launched itself at Jolthar with supernatural speed, its claws extended and shadow-wreathed fangs bared.

But Jolthar was ready.

The voidwrath power within him surged, turning his movements into something beyond human capability. His knashii moved like liquid metal, leaving trails of dark, silver-coloured, void-tinged energy in its wake as he spun away from the beast’s initial attack.

The drake, displaying a coordination with its bonded partner that defied explanation, engaged the second licaolf.

The two creatures became a blur of scales and shadow-fur, their battle a deadly dance of claws and teeth. The drake’s advantage in raw power was matched by the licaolf’s unnatural agility, making their contest a sight that had Myron backing further away, unsure how to help in this unforeseen conflict.

Jolthar’s blade sang through the air as he launched his counterattack.

The knashii’s edge gleamed with the power of the Voidwrath—a force that seemed to repel the green energy. Where the blade passed, reality seemed to warp slightly, leaving ghostly afterimages that made the stable hand cross himself in fear.

"Voidslash!" Jolthar intoned, his voice carrying an otherworldly resonance as he activated one of his weapon’s techniques.

The licaolf proved why its kind was feared even among magical beasts. It moved like smoke given form, its attacks coming from impossible angles. Its claws left gouges in the stable’s stone floor, and its eyes blazed with an intelligence that spoke of something far more dangerous than a mere animal.

Each time it struck, shadows seemed to extend from its form, making it difficult to judge exactly where its body ended and the darkness began.

But Jolthar was its equal in speed and supernatural grace. The voidwrath power coursing through him enhanced every movement, every reaction. Where the licaolf was shadow and bestial fury, Jolthar was controlled power and practiced technique. His knashii wove patterns of dark silver light through the air as he pressed his attack, each strike precisely calculated despite the incredible speed at which he moved.

That man with the sceptre watched the battle unfold with growing frustration. The sceptre still pulsed with sickly green energy, but he seemed unable to affect the drake while its bond with Jolthar remained active. He began chanting in a language that made the air itself feel heavy, clearly preparing something more sinister.